Romancing the Billionaire

by Jessica Clare

  “Please, Jonathan,” she begged. “I need you deep inside me.”

  “Come again for me,” he demanded.

  She tightened her interior muscles, trying to clench his dragging fingers inside her. “Not until you’re in me and we can come together.”

  He hesitated, then groaned and pressed his face against her stomach. “Damn, I love you, woman.”

  She hoped that meant she was going to get her way. “Hurry,” she encouraged him. “I’m aching so badly for you.”

  Jonathan turned and climbed onto the bed fully again, then leaned down and kissed her, and she eagerly wrapped her legs around his hips. He groaned against her mouth, and she felt his hand move between them, guiding his cock to that perfect spot between her legs. When he placed the head of it at her core, he hesitated.

  She bucked against him, trying to encourage him forward. “Yes!” But he only rubbed it against her, that wicked beast. She groaned as he thrust against her entrance, but no further. “Do it!”

  “I love you, Violet,” he said hoarsely. Then, he pushed deep and sank to the hilt.

  She gasped. Not only because of his heartfelt words, but because of the sensation of him, the memory of him filling her like this so many years ago. Sex with Jonathan had always been good, even when they were two fumbling teenagers. Sex with Jonathan as an adult was reaching new levels of amazing. She tightened her inner muscles around him, reveling in the feel of his cock deep inside her. God, he felt so good. So perfect for her.

  He groaned, his eyes closing, and she watched his face, hungry to see his desire. To see him lose control. She wanted to feel him stroke deep inside her, but more than that, she wanted to see him as he lost control, to see his face tighten with his own orgasm, to watch the release move across his handsome features.

  She was hungry for it. And so Violet flexed her hips, encouraging him to start moving. “You feel incredible, Jonathan. You’re so deep inside me, aren’t you?”

  “Violet,” he murmured thickly. “My Violet.”

  “All yours,” she agreed, and gasped when he rocked his hips, thrusting into her. Oh, that was sinfully magnificent.

  “All mine,” he said in a low voice, and pushed into her again, his movements steady. “You are, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. It was in the way she greedily raised her hips for his next drive, the way her arms twisted in the bonds, dying to touch him. She wanted all of him. And so she dug her heels into his ass and lifted her hips with each powerful thrust he gave her.

  If Jonathan had thought to make her wild with slow, measured thrusts, he’d clearly underestimated himself. She felt his body tremor against her own, and she watched his face go tight, as if struggling to hold on. One hand clasped her hip and he held her firmly, even as he hammered deep again.

  “Yes,” she told him, lifting her hips and squeezing her internal muscles with every thrust. “Yes, Jonathan. Give it to me.”

  His control was ebbing. His next few thrusts lost their measured cadence, and then Jonathan lifted one of her legs from his hip and dragged her ankle to his shoulder. He pressed a kiss there and pushed into her again, and it made his penetration even deeper, even more wonderful than before. Violet gave a soft cry and bit her lip. Oh, God, that was wonderful.

  And all the while, he started to thrust harder and harder. She heard the slap of his balls against her ass, felt his skin smack against her own with the power of his drives. It was wonderful. More than that, the look on his face had gone rigid, inches away from losing control. He was thrusting into her so hard that her breasts were bouncing with every movement, and the bed in the hotel room was squeaking loudly.

  She didn’t care. She loved it.

  She was so fixed on Jonathan’s pleasure and the look on his face that she was surprised when she felt the onset of an orgasm begin to bloom deep in her own belly again. “Oh,” she cried out, shocked. Normally she needed for her clit to be manipulated in order for her to come, but Jonathan’s wild driving into her was doing it for her. “Oh, Jonathan,” she gasped, urgency building inside her. Her toes curled, and her ankle dug into his shoulder. “Oh, keep going!”

  “Come for me,” he growled, voice harsh with need. The bed squeaked louder, and Jonathan slammed into her harder and harder. His hand had left her hip and he was using both to support his body as he drove into her. Her breasts were bouncing wildly, and she was loving it, her moans escalating with each thrust. Violet was pretty sure they were being noisy as hell.

  She was also pretty sure she didn’t care. She closed her eyes and bit her lip again, focused on that elusive orgasm, on the feel of Jonathan pounding into her. “Oh, God, please keep going. Just like that. Oh, God, yes. Yes!” It built and built, and then she was trying to lift her hips to meet his hammering thrusts as he moved impossibly fast within her. She couldn’t keep up with his rhythm, their bodies out of sync. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. All that mattered was closing in on that orgasm—

  And suddenly it was there. Violet gave a little scream as her body shuddered, her pussy clenching tight around the thick length of Jonathan’s cock, and she came and came and came. Sparks exploded behind her eyes and her entire body quaked, and oh, God, it was so good.

  Her name dragged out of his throat between thrusts. “Violet.”

  She opened her eyes, even as her body quivered with the orgasm, and wished she could touch his face. “Come for me, Jonathan,” she whispered. “Oh, God, come with me.”

  Even as she came down, he tilted his head back and groaned, the cords in his neck straining as he came on his own. She watched in wonder as his body tensed, his face flushing, and she thought she’d never seen anything more beautiful than Jonathan Lyons, face tight in the rictus of orgasm. His thrusts became erratic and slowed, his panting equally so, and then he dragged his cock in and out of her in one last, almost exhausted thrust, and his sleepy eyes opened to stare at her in wonder.

  “Violet,” he murmured thickly.

  “I’m here,” she said in a soft voice. “I’m here.”

  Breathing hard, he rolled off of her and headed to a nearby garbage can, peeling off the condom. She watched his buttocks flex as he walked, admiring them and the tan lines separating his waist from his ass. He turned back to the bed and moved to the headboard, his fingers undoing the knots that held her wrists in place. “You okay?”

  “I can honestly say I completely forgot what my safe word was supposed to be,” she said breathlessly.

  He tensed. “Did I hurt you?”

  She snorted and sat up as the bonds on her wrists released and she rubbed them. They didn’t hurt except for where she’d been straining against them. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jonathan. If I was screaming, it was because I was out of my mind with pleasure.”

  He relaxed and got back into the bed. Before she could head to the bathroom to clean up, he put his hands around her waist and dragged her body against him. “Don’t leave me yet.”

  Those words were like knives in her heart. Don’t leave me yet. Poor Jonathan. She snuggled close to him and enjoyed that she got to touch him now, finally. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and began to slide her fingers up and down his flat stomach.

  “Mmm,” he said softly when she dragged her fingers through the thin line of hair below his belly button. “Next time, no hands tied. I like your touch too much.”

  Would there be a next time, Violet wondered? Then she decided, yes, there would be. She wasn’t an idiot; if Jonathan gave her mind-blowing, weak-in-the-knees sex, she’d gladly take it every chance she could get before they had to part.

  Then she frowned. They did have to part. It wasn’t a good idea to fall in love with Jonathan again. She might always be fond of him. She might love the sex he gave her. But she didn’t know that she was ready to go all-in once again. Her heart still carried the bruises from last time. />
  Troubled, Violet rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

  “You all right?” Jonathan’s hand brushed her arm.

  “Just thinking.” Her thoughts sucked, too. They were full of her returning to her quiet teaching job back in Detroit, and Jonathan going back to his whirlwind lifestyle of fascinating projects and exploring famous and dangerous places and running his car company. Even though they’d fit together as college students, she’d switched directions once she’d returned home. They didn’t fit as adults. Jonathan was a billionaire with a hectic lifestyle. Violet was, well . . . boring. She was just a schoolteacher.

  He’d get tired of her in another week or two.

  Which was why it was so important that she keep her heart locked down, no matter what. They could have sex, they could laugh and play together both in and out of bed, and she could kiss him, but she had to keep her heart her own.

  Because if it broke again, she’d never be able to recover.

  Violet sighed and stared at the ceiling without seeing it. She did notice, however, that they’d knocked the picture on the wall askew. It hung over their heads, a few feet above the headboard, and was tilted distinctly to one side. That was rather funny. “I think we were a little overly vigorous,” Violet said with a smile and pointed at the picture.

  And just then, she noticed the picture itself. With a gasp, she sat up and whirled around to stare at the picture. It was a giclee, a mass-produced print of a pastoral scene that was probably sold in multiple hotel catalogs full of ugly but unobtrusive furnishings. She hadn’t paid a bit of attention to it before, and she probably wouldn’t have noticed it now except for one thing: the pastoral scene of a river that flowed toward a mill and a gigantic waterwheel.

  A wheel.

  “Do you see what I see?” she asked, pointing at the picture.

  Jonathan sat up. After a moment, he laughed and quoted the first line of the poem again. “‘Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel.’”

  “You think that’s our wheel?” Violet asked eagerly. She hobbled forward on her knees on the bed and pulled the picture off the wall, looking at the back of it. Nothing.

  “Well, my note did say Kallista Hotel,” Jonathan agreed. He ran a hand over the cardboard backing of the cheap picture. “So it has to be something with this hotel.”

  Violet stared at it, thinking. “This isn’t an original. I wonder if the other rooms have a similar painting in them?”

  Jonathan gave her a musing look. “You want me to rent out the entire hotel?”

  “Can you do that?”

  He gave her that slow, lazy smile that made her heart turn over. “A billionaire can do whatever he wants, love.”

  THIRTEEN

  The next morning, Jonathan had rented out every room on their floor—the second floor. They’d gone through every room and only found two with the same painting as the one she’d been staring at in bed, and neither had a message written on them.

  They’d returned back to Jonathan’s room, no closer than when they’d started.

  Puzzled and frustrated, Violet returned to the poem, studying it over and over again. “That has to be the wheel. It has to.”

  She leaned over the tablet, staring at the scanned message and wishing inspiration would strike.

  As she did, Jonathan leaned over and murmured in her ear, “Shall I rent out another floor?”

  “That’s just a waste of money if we’re on the wrong track,” Violet said, though she shivered at the feel of his breath caressing her ear.

  “You know I don’t care about the money,” he said, and leaned in and kissed the side of her neck.

  Violet gasped and arched, giving him more access to her throat. After last night’s marathon loving, they’d slept for a few hours, and she’d woken up to Jonathan’s hungry kisses in the middle of the night. They’d made love twice more, each time more fierce than the last, and when dawn had hit, Violet had fallen into an exhausted, dazed slumber.

  Even now she was curled up in the blankets, naked, and seated at the table in their room despite the late afternoon hour. After finding no luck with the second floor, they’d returned to their room and made love again.

  And again.

  Jonathan had just showered and he smelled fresh and clean, and she wanted to lick the droplets of water off of his bronzed skin. God, the man was delicious.

  “Some of us are trying to work here,” she teased him as he continued to nibble at her neck. She squirmed away from him with a grin and pointed at the tablet. “Look what you made me do.” Her fingers had hit the screen when he’d kissed her and she’d accidentally zoomed in, the handwriting on the note enlarging to an extreme degree.

  “It’s fine,” Jonathan said, his mouth moving to her ear and his nibbling continuing onto her earlobe. “Just ignore it. We’ll work on it later.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” she told him with a grin.

  “Mmm, big teacher word there.” He gently bit her earlobe and slid a hand into the blanket, cupping one of her breasts. “That turns me on.”

  “Everything turns you on,” she teased.

  “Everything about you,” he agreed, and she forgot all about working for the next few hours.

  —

  When Violet begged for mercy, Jonathan got dressed and headed downstairs to get them something to drink. They’d cleaned out the minibar of bottled water during their steamy night, and they were both thirsty. As she waited for Jonathan, Violet took a quick shower and pulled on one of Jonathan’s shirts, since her clothes were still in her room. He wouldn’t mind her borrowing it; heck, he’d probably like the way the slogan on the front of the T-shirt stretched tight across her breasts.

  While she waited for him, Violet grabbed the tablet and returned to the bed, determined to puzzle out the poem. The tablet was still open to the screen she’d left it at, and the giant font glared at her as soon as she tapped the screen. She flicked her fingers over the surface, trying to reduce the font down, and as she did, she noticed something curious: the “i” in the second line seemed to be darker than the rest of the lettering. It was impossible to tell when she was viewing it from afar, but close up, it was clearly darker.

  Curious, Violet scanned through the rest of the poem. A few more letters were also darker. She got a pen and a piece of scratch paper from the bedside table and began to mark them down.

  Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud;

  Turn thy wild wheel thro’ sunshine, storm, and cloud;

  Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.

  Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown;

  With that wild wheel we go not up or down;

  Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.

  Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;

  Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands;

  For man is man and master of his fate.

  Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd;

  Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud;

  Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.

  She stared at her notes, thinking. IVIIIII meant nothing to her. There were no darker symbols in the last paragraph, so she wondered if the spacing had anything to do with it. On a hunch, she separated out the letters by paragraph. IV III III.

  Roman numerals.

  433.

  The Kallista Hotel had four floors.

  She gasped. That was it. It had been in front of their faces all this time. They just hadn’t paid attention to the lettering because they’d been so focused on the poem.

  The door opened and Jonathan came into the room with a plastic grocery bag filled with bottles of water and a small bag of what smelled like fresh baklava. “I thought you might be hungry—”

  She launched herself from the bed with a squeal and leapt f
or his arms. “I figured it out!”

  Jonathan dropped the bags and held on to her as she flung herself against him. “You got it?”

  “I got it! Room 433!” She grinned up at him, her arms going around his neck. “Ten bucks says that the room has one of these ugly wheel paintings.”

  “How did you solve it?” His hands went to her backside, and he groaned. “And why aren’t you wearing panties?”

  She was dressed in nothing but one of his T-shirts. “I’m wearing this because I haven’t left your room in the past twenty-four hours,” she teased. She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bed. “Look, I’ll show you.”

  He sat down on the bed and she crawled in next to him, pulling over the tablet and her notes, showing him her discovery.

  “That’s incredible,” Jonathan murmured, and then turned to look at her, a smile on his face. “You’re incredible.”

  Violet beamed at him, ecstatic. She’d figured this one out on her own. And with him smiling at her, she did feel pretty incredible. At that moment, Violet felt like she could take over the world.

  And when his gaze went from smiling at her to down at her mouth, Violet realized he was aroused. Grabbing her bare ass had distracted him, it seemed. And she was feeling rather sexy and empowered herself. She wanted him, and she wanted to be the one in control.

  So, with a wicked expression on her face, Violet leaned in for a kiss. As his mouth met hers, she placed her hand between his legs and stroked the bulge in his pants.

  Jonathan groaned, his hand tightening over hers. “What about the room?”

  “It can wait,” she said, stroking his cock through his jeans. “It’s my turn to be in charge.” With a smile, she moved her hand to his chest and gave him a subtle nudge, indicating he should lie back.

  Jonathan fell backward onto the bed, his eyes hot as he watched her.

  With sure hands, she grabbed the buckle of his belt and undid it, stroking her hand over his cock every so often to keep him excited. Next were the buttons on his fly, and then she was shoving his jeans down his hips. He lifted them to help her, and she grabbed his boxers next, pulling them down and exposing what she wanted—his cock.